


Constant

by I_mNotYourEnemy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, post 5x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_mNotYourEnemy/pseuds/I_mNotYourEnemy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one else can hurt them as much as each other, but no one else knows how to piece the shattered fragments of their hearts together either. Mickey thinks that might be the problem; he’s patched up his and Ian’s hearts so many times that the pieces have gotten muddled. His heart is Ian’s and Ian’s is his.</p>
<p>Which is probably why it fucking hurts so much right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant

**Author's Note:**

> so the best and worst scene in that finale was the ian/mickey one and can i just say no thank you to the whole episode? bc yeah no thanks 
> 
> have this soppy kind of fix-it fic

‘Insufficient evidence’. That's their reason for releasing him—or excuse, to be more accurate. It's his word against Sammi’s. She says he’d tried to kill her, he says he didn’t, and now he’s the one being released. She was the one caught chasing him with a gun, of course. If this had been a nicer neighbourhood and the police hadn’t been quite so sick of dealing with the Milkovich clan, perhaps Mickey would still be in the interrogation room or watching the world through metal bars, but time is valuable. Milkovich or not, Mickey had only been seen chased through the neighbourhood. There was nothing tying him to Sammi’s disappearance. The only witnesses to his crime are Frank and Debbie, neither of which would even think to turn him in. They don’t have enough resources to launch a full investigation when they have nothing to go on but Sammi’s word, which stands for very little at the moment. Mickey hadn’t bothered pressing charges against her; they have enough to keep her for a while without that and, really, he just wants to get out. He doesn’t want some overworked public lawyer spewing jargon at him.

He wants to go home, wherever that is now.

When he receives his belongings, he immediately turns his phone on. It still has some battery left, thankfully. Not much, but it should be enough for a call. He has a few missed call. Something catches in his throat when he sees most of them are from Ian.

He could walk home, he supposes, but he’d rather get a ride. His bones are weary with a deep, aching tiredness, and his eyes are throbbing from the headache that hasn’t shifted in hours. Ian, Sammi, the police—they’d all worn him out. He’d already been feeling the dragging claws of mental exhaustion from his exchange with Ian when Sammi had shown up. Being chased and shot at hardly remedied that. The adrenaline had worn off as the cop car pulled up at the station; it had taken an extraordinary amount of effort to drag himself from the backseat. He needs sleep, he needs his bed. He needs sanctuary from consciousness and from the life that had so suddenly been turned upside down.    

Ian and Mickey are a constant. They rise and they fall, but they survive. They’ve been injured, shot, beaten, but they're still there at the end of the day. No one else can hurt them as much as each other, but no one else knows how to piece the shattered fragments of their hearts together either. Mickey thinks that might be the problem; he’s patched up his and Ian’s hearts so many times that the pieces have gotten muddled. His heart is Ian’s and Ian’s is his.

Which is probably why it fucking hurts so much right now. 

He should call his one of his brothers—Iggy, probably. If they still have the car, that is, and haven’t lost it or borrowed it to go on a drug run. Although maybe Iggy isn’t the best choice. He’d been the most accepting of Mickey’s sexuality and his relationship with Ian. The fury Mickey had expected was instead brotherly teasing. He’s not sure he can deal with Iggy’s gratuitous gay jokes right now.

A vibration in his hand drags him from his thoughts. His phone shakes in drawn out buzzes and Ian’s face stares up at him, sending a stab of pain straight through his chest.

Mickey accepts the call.

“Hello?” He tries to ignore how wrecked his voice sounds.

“You get released?” Ian’s voice is as quiet as his, as if there is a wall of glass around them that could shatter at a moment’s notice.

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m… I’m outside.”

He hangs up after that, leaving Mickey mouthing wordlessly. The woman next to him gives his a strange look. He flips her off.

He kicks his brain back into action, forcing his legs to carry him to the door. He could feel his heart thrumming in his chest and his head still ached desperately. His thoughts tripped over each other, his emotions threatening to spill out.

He still hasn’t really processed Ian’s words from earlier; there hadn't been time. He’s still holding onto the thin thread of hope that he’d imagined the conversation, that his recent sleep deprivation had manifested itself into delusions. He knows it was real, though; he can still feel the pain from each syllable that had fallen from Ian’s lips. Breaking up had never even occurred to him before. They’ve been through too much, invested too much in each other to just break it off. He’s lost Mandy and he doesn’t think he can survive losing Ian too.

There’s a truck parked not too far from the station. Mickey recognises it, but he doesn’t know where from. The Gallaghers must have used it a few times. Ian’s leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed over his chest, gazed focused on the pavement. He looks beautiful. His hair is gelled back but dishevelled, his skin is pale and eyes are sunken. They’re not as bright as they used to be, when they'd been so full of ambition and optimism. Mickey would give anything to go back to the seemingly uncomplicated says of their youth. They seem so long ago.

“Hey,” Ian says.

“Hey,” Mickey replies.

Ian pushes forwards. Mickey can see a battle taking place in his head, a surge of emotions swirling in his eyes. He only opens the door, though, before making his way around to the driver’s side. Mickey approaches the car, hesitating briefly as he slides into it. It smells of cigarettes and pot inside.

Ian’s silent as he starts the car and pulls away. His eyes are trained on the road. Mickey’s are trained on Ian. He hadn't expected to see him so soon after what he'd said earlier. A small part of his mind had told him that he would never see him again. It takes two to make a relationship but it only takes one to end it.

“You, uh… You always leave your exes a bunch of missed calls?” Mickey asks, hoping the pain in his voice is masked by the joking tone.

Ian shrugs. “You always try to kill my sisters?”

Mickey looks away finally. He stares out of the window, at the blurred scenery. He doesn’t know where they’re going. “You ain’t actually related to her. Besides...” He pauses, and then decides ‘fuck it’. He hasn’t got anything left to lose. “Bitch ruined our date.”

He sees Ian smile from the corner of his eye. It's a small, sad thing but a smile nonetheless. He manages to keep himself from looking back at him, even though he wants nothing more than to savour the image of Ian’s smile forever. He doubts he’ll get to see it again.

“Yeah, she did.” There’s a long stretch of silence, in which Mickey realises that they aren’t heading to Ian’s house but they aren’t heading to Mickey’s either. They’re driving just for the sake of it.

“I’m not broken,” Ian says so quietly Mickey almost doesn’t hear him. He clears his throat and repeats himself in a louder tone, “I’m not broken.”

“I know.” Mickey glances over as Ian looks away.

“I don’t need fixing.”

“I know.”

“But you want me to change myself,” Ian argues, and he’s not wrong.

Mickey sighs and thumbs at his lower lip nervously. He’s never been good with his feelings, let alone voicing them. _I changed myself for you_ , he wants to say, but he doesn't. “I love you like you are. I just don’t want you hurtin’ yourself or some shit. You’re not at your best when you’re off meds. I know you don’t like ‘em but… Jesus, Ian, you scare me sometimes.”

Mickey thinks Ian might stop the car and force him out. He only pulls over, though, so he can take his hands off the wheel and face him properly. A light flush spreads across his cheekbones, colouring the tips of his ears. His eyes storm with pent-up anger. He knows this is a sore spot for Ian, but he's thankful for the other boy's restraint. He's not sure he can deal with another shouting match.

“This is why it can’t work. I can’t live with you being scared of me or—or scared of what I’ll do. I can’t deal with that.”

Mickey swallows around the lump in his throat. His heart hasn’t calmed since he received Ian’s call. “What if it was me? What if I disappeared for days on end without any fucking warning or any contact? Being worried is fucking normal, alright. Everyone was fucking worried about you.”

The muscles in Ian’s jaw tense and he breathes shakily through his nose. “You don’t know how it feels, Mick, having this thing you can’t control. Having people tell you you’re crazy.”

Mickey doesn’t reply. He stares at a spot above Ian’s shoulder, not sure he can meet the ginger’s eyes. Ian give a disbelieving huff, shakes his head, and moves to turn the car back on, but Mickey’s words stop him.

“I do, kinda. It ain’t the same but when I was a kid, I had this—this thing. My dad was drunk all the time, my mom was high. Mandy was a tiny thing back then and I had to stop her getting caught in the middle of their fights. My brothers were bigger than us. They could fend for themselves. I’d take dad’s fists instead of her. I could deal with it better than her, right?” It’s the most he’s said in days and his throat feels as if it’s lined with sandpaper. He presses on regardless. “I was scared of him and I was fucking scared for Mandy. Couldn’t let him know, though. He’d only hit me worse. Then they started and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’d get these feelings, like I was gonna fucking die or something, for, like, no reason. I’d panic and I couldn’t breathe. My brain would tell me that I could but I just fucking couldn’t. Mandy couldn’t help. It just scared her. She called for dad once. He just kicked me and told me to stop acting like a crazy shit and man up.” He choked out a laugh, avoiding looking at Ian. “I figured out how to hide it, how to not look like I’d just freaked the fuck out. I grew out of it but it still happens sometimes.”

“Mickey.” Ian’s voice is thick. Mickey meets his watery gaze. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been around much lately. I just... I don't want you to go through this shit alone. I know what it's like to hide and suffer through it, but you can't hide from your own mind, right?" He doesn't know where his words are leading him, doesn't know what he wants to say. He has so many thoughts he wants to tell Ian but they get caught on his tongue. He leans back into his seat instead, forcing the tension from his shoulders. “You gonna take me home or what?”

It takes a while for Ian’s hand to move to the ignition. “You’re not broken either, Mickey.”

Mickey huffs in quiet laughter, unable to contain it. “Never said I was.”

“But we are. Us. We’re really fuckin’ broken. It ain’t healthy.”

Mickey doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to agree but he can’t disagree. Ian’s the best thing he’s ever had in his life, but there’s not exactly a high standard to live up to.

Ian continues despite Mickey's silence. “We could fix us, though, maybe. I don’t know. It's too fucking complicated and I'm tired."

The car rolls forwards and Ian smoothly joins the flow of traffic.

“I want to fix us,” Mickey says, barely above a whisper. He knows Ian hears him.

“We can try. I think we need time. Shit, I don’t think I’ve had a normal week in forever.” Ian’s lips curl into a smile, sudden but bright and wide. “How about that date?”

Mickey arches an eyebrow. This day has been a whirlwind of contradicting emotions and he’s not sure he can take much more without sleep, booze, or a combination of the two.

“I mean, I’ll try not to get arrested this time. No promises.”

Mickey feel’s his face betray him and a matching smile forms on his own mouth. It feels like all the tentative steps they’ve taken forwards in the past few years have been obliterated by their sprint backwards in the last month or so. Maybe this time they should take a different path, one in which Mickey can fall into step beside Ian; a path without mountains and gargantuan rivers to cross. “You free Friday?”

Ian nods. “It’s a date.”


End file.
